Tears

• Zoe Fletcher, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2018

Tears flowed from my eyes like a waterfall, dampening my chest and spilling down my face. My jaw quivered and my legs trembled as if I were to topple over. Only the safety of my father’s firm arms wrapped around me kept me standing and not whimpering on the hard marble floor of the hospital. My tears flew down my face faster, more violently, completely drenching my fathers chest. Only then did he take a step backwards, away from me, leaving me more alone and depressed than ever. My father’s arms again wrapped around me and this time I gripped to him harder. My mayhem of hair mimicked the stress and anxiety I had been through in the past week. Lack of sleep and nights spent praying left bags under my eyes and my eyes red and puffy. My father started to cry too, his tears dampening my hair and rolling slowly down the side of my face. I could hear his ragged breathing and feel his quivering arms. It just made me cry harder, my chest in agony at the loss of my beloved Grandma. I liked to think of father as the brave, strong man that could strive through anything without a second thought. The man that would never get upset at anything, no matter the dire circumstances. Just the fact that this occasion made my father of all people cry made me break out in a nervous sweat. I knew that this was a big deal.
Abruptly, father released his death grip on me. He was breathing heavily as he took a hurried step backwards. His face was grim and looked as if he was pondering a thought. He raised a finger to point at me. His lingering gaze on me made me feel small, meager, punny and unimportant against his brave demeanour. His face screwed up, as if he was thinking really hard before he whispered, his voice barely audible, “You did this.”
A cringy sort of grimace settled itself on his face. His features smooth and sure and his voice raised to be the slightest bit more audible, “Yes, you did this.”
Suddenly I felt something sharp cut into my shoulder that was strangely sticky. I whirled around and shrieked. My sound made what I saw cower backwards slightly. Sitting on Grandma’s bed, with their hands planted firmly on my shoulders was Grandma. But not Grandma. It’s features were slimy, drool seeping out of it’s mouth. It’s face was drained of colour and pale and the wrinkly skin of the beast sagged, as if all of the moisture had been drained out of it. It opened it’s mouth to say something. I cringed, ready for whatever horrifying thing that came next, but all it said was,
“Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep.”
Darkness swallowed me.
I sat up in bed abruptly. I was sweating buckets and breathing hard. My bed covers were on the floor and my alarm clock was going crazy with beeping. I breathed in deeply. It was just a dream and my Grandma wasn’t in hospital. I breathed out a sigh of relief but couldn’t help but notice that my chest was still damp and my cheeks were still wet and that I could hear the faint sound of sobbing in the room next door.